Well, we don’t really have a “path” from the house to the chicken coop. It’s not all that far to walk and it’s just across the east lawn and behind the cypress trees — a spit and a holler, you might say. In fact, I try not to follow exactly the same route day after day. I wouldn’t really want a visible trail across the lawn. Besides, my meanderings give me a chance to check out the new mole hills — my gawd, those critters are busy right now! — and see how Mrs. G.W. Leach and the Honorable Jean Maries are coming along. As in buds today, blossoms soon.
This morning the grass was coated with shiny white frost and it was SLIPPERY. Not so much on the way out which is ever-so-slightly downhill, but on the way back. Uphill is harder when there’s no traction. Don’t mention it to my son Charlie, though. He is concerned that, even under the best of conditions, I will fall on my way out to the girls. I think it’s because he was here in 2018 when Nyel fell on his way out there — the beginning of his long journey toward life in a wheelchair.
And, also, please don’t mention to Charlie that our neighbor Sue is concerned about my being out after dark. “Coyotes!” she says. Actually, I very seldom go out after 4:30 p.m. these days and if, for any reason, it’s beyond gloaming, I take a flashlight with a very big, bright beam. Besides, as I told her, I haven’t seen or heard any coyotes around for a year or more.
“Oh, they’re out there,” she said, and proceeded to tell us about one coming close to her porch recently and actually growling at her! Yikes! “Maybe it was growling at Ursa,” I offered. But Sue was sure not. So… don’t tell Charlie. And my resolve is re-doubled. Out to the chickens before 4:30 — though the girls aren’t likely to be cooperative about heading for the roost if it’s TOO light!
Ah, the trials of a chicken farmer’s wife. And who knew that it’s all uphill from the coop? Literally, not figuratively.